


Room Enough

by jasp



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, V becoming a triad, no plot but an odd amount of elysium lore, or relationship(s), post Patrochilles reunion, reminiscing on old relationships while navigating new ones, some light consensual voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasp/pseuds/jasp
Summary: Now that Achilles and Patroclus are reunited in Elysium, they have space and time to themselves, and Zag's place in his relationship with them - individually, together - has changed. He finds himself on their doorstep nonetheless, from time to time.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 302





	Room Enough

There was room enough for everyone in the Underworld - Achilles had told him as much, once, and Zag had seen over the last little while the proof of that. 

Elysium was a sprawling, climbing bowl of hills and bridges laced throughout with the colonnaded residences of the exalted shades. Achilles had long ago been given access to one of those splendid homes, and had spurned it; it had then been given to Patroclus, who had spurned it in turn, in his own way, and left it empty and desolate. Nevertheless, it had remained his by force of contract and bureaucracy - and in recent days, it had more properly belonged to both of its former owners, its once-silent halls now enlivened, to the extent that such could be said of any place in the realm of Hades.

The twisting roads of the Underworld didn't always lead Zag to that house, but they often took him close enough that he could clear out his father's minions and climb from the main path without being seen, if he so chose. And when he knocked, he was welcomed in - some of the time.

This was one of those times, though when the door finally opened, the look Patroclus gave him made him almost think he was about to be turned away for the state he was in. He wiped sheepishly at the black ectoplasm running down his sword arm, though he could do little about the ichor seeping from his own wounds. He had felt somewhat more driven lately to prove himself and steal away his father’s riches, and he had gotten desperate with that bloody contract of theirs. It had been a rougher run than usual.

“Well,” Patroclus sighed at length. “I suppose I cannot simply let you linger there like a kicked hound.” A familiar, inquiring voice echoed from within the depths of the house, and Patroclus smiled, the facade of irritation falling away just enough to make sure Zag followed the joke - he would never have simply closed the door. “He wouldn't allow me to hear the end of it if I did.” Zag laughed, relieved, and took the kindness for what it was as he stepped over the threshold.

“You’re a sight,” was how Achilles greeted him in the hall, his gaze touched with concern as it took stock of where Zag was hurt.

 _I could say the same of you_ , Zag didn’t say, but definitely thought, and tried not to notice the greater-than-usual disarray of Achilles’ hair or the hasty way his cloak was wrapped around him. “It’s worse than it looks,” he said instead, after a quick glance at the floor to make sure he wasn’t tracking _too_ much blood in.

“Be that as it may…” Achilles trailed off. He shifted his weight thoughtfully, looking at nothing, and then back up at Patroclus.

“You know,” Patroclus said, picking up the unspoken thread of suggestion. “I have heard that some of the waters around here have curative properties. Not that I’ve cared to try them myself, or had much reason to besides, but those braggarts from the stadium swear by them."

“I know what you mean.” Zag thought of the secluded grottos he sometimes stumbled across, the placid flow of warm, mineral-rich waters. “And for once the braggarts are right about how great they are."

"We do have a spring here," Patroclus nudged further, making only the barest effort to sound as if it had just occurred to him.

"Really?" Unlike the others in the room, Zag was genuinely surprised. "They've been pretty few and far between in my experience."

“On the contrary; I’ve heard you can find a spring diverted into every house. Compliments of Daedalus himself,” Achilles laughed. “Or so they told me when I first arrived here.” 

“To allow whoever would wish to do so to jump right back into the fray, I suppose,” Patroclus observed dryly.

Zag was snapped out of wondering if the House Contractor had conned him in charging for access to the _apparently complimentary_ mineral fountains by Achilles’ guiding hand on his shoulder. “Well, come on then,” he said with an encouraging push. “Let’s get you cleaned up at least, and those wounds seen to, and hope the baths are all they’re said to be.”

Zag had only truly spent time inside Achilles’ and Patroclus’ home on a few occasions. Although the house's walls were absolute and windowless without, within the space was open, broken only by rows of pillars and sheer, glimmering curtains reaching down from the angular vault of the ceiling. It was sparse otherwise - Zag's footsteps echoed off of blank walls and basic furnishings, stocked and clean but bare. The place was made to be shaped to its occupants' wishes; they had as yet had little impulse to decorate.

Just apart from what could be loosely called a bedroom was the bath. It was spring-fed and sunken into the floor, and continuously overflowed itself to run out under a gap in the nearest wall with a rush of steam. The waters were hazy enough that Zag didn't feel too bad about the prospect of sullying them; he did however hesitate to pull the pin from the shoulder of his chiton. It wasn't as if anyone in the room _hadn't_ seen him naked before, and in far more compromising situations than this. The mundanity, though, left a feeling of something unresolved, a sense of waiting for more. Anticipation, perhaps, misguided as it likely was. He only hesitated a moment.

Patroclus' sympathetic _tsk_ drew his attention to the skin he had just bared, and- oh, that _was_ worse than he'd thought it was, a mess of darkening bruises and shallow cuts, only just scabbed over or still oozing. There was a deeper wound in the flesh of his arm that stung - Hydra venom - and something painful and bloody in his thigh. He grimaced and undid his belt and pauldron, letting his tattered chiton fall to the floor. With something to focus on it wasn't quite as awkward, the inquisitive, sympathetic eyes on him as he undid more of his armor and peeled off his tights.

Seeing it all made it hurt worse, somehow; Zag lowered himself gingerly to sit at the edge of the bath, his feet and shins submerged. "Lean back some and let us have a look," Achilles said with the gentle authority of a training session, and Zag did, resting his weight on his palms and stretching out to allow himself to be fussed over. Patroclus was already soaking soft cloths in the water; he and Achilles had naturally fallen in on either side of Zag, and worked quietly and efficiently to clean the grime from his skin.

He always ended up between them, like this. Perhaps it was only natural. He had bridged the distance between them - physical, emotional - often enough that by the time the three of them had finally been close enough to touch all at once, even that had felt like the only possible outcome of the affections and the understanding he had carried for them for so long. Like a sound shaking itself at last into stillness. And as he had been drawn into their affairs, they were in turn dragged into his - _for better or for worse_ , he reflected dryly, thinking of how he was imposing now - then drew a tight breath as hot water seared over his wounded leg.

"Apologies," Patroclus said, not sounding apologetic in the least. "That should be the worst of it."

"Thanks," Zag said, and meant it, because he could see that the bleeding had almost completely stopped, and the pain had passed as quickly as it came. "For opening your home to me, too. I…" He paused a moment, looking rather unsuccessfully for a way to both be circumspect and to ask what was on his mind. "I didn't exactly let you know I was going to be stopping by."

"Nonsense," Achilles said, softly but with finality. "We wouldn't have asked you to keep going in that state." He wiped the last traces of blood from Zag's shoulder.

Zag poked gingerly at the just-barely-closed-over wound, and was pleased to find it didn't bleed or burn like hellfire anymore. Patroclus' hand was still on his thigh, no longer with any particular purpose; his touch simply lingered. Achilles' gaze lingered. Zag felt the beginnings of a flush blooming beneath his cheekbones. "Well, sure, but I've been in worse shape before, and I could've found something else to get by." 

"But you stopped here," Patroclus pointed out, matter-of-fact and weighted with implication.

"Well it was worth a shot," Zag said, feeling seen through and more than a bit sheepish about it. "I just don't want to interrupt anything. Or get in your way. You know."

"Mm," Patroclus hummed neutrally.

"This is _your_ place after all, and, er." Zag looked between the two men - the two lovers - trying to gauge what they thought, what they expected, having let him in. They had some way of understanding that made him feel lost and blindfolded by comparison, trying to puzzle out with only half his senses what he needed to do to receive an answer without the coercion of asking for it. "I can...probably take care of myself from here. You don't need to keep looking after me, though I appreciate it."

"You're feeling alright?" Achilles asked with a hint of worry. Patroclus withdrew his hand from Zag's thigh, laid it reassuringly on Achilles' shoulder.

"Better than before, for sure. Great, even!" Zag put on a show of enthusiasm, and watched - the walls were down, only sheer excuses left. They could decide whether to take them or not. As for him, he wanted - anything, really, and he hoped they knew that, at least. Wanted just as much for them to disregard him, to pick up where they left off when he got in their way - it was only fair that he leave them to themselves after so long apart. Still, they were considering him in a way he felt like he knew, but would never presume and would certainly never initiate. It was for him to be drawn in, to be pulled happily along, not to force with questions or need-

"Very well," Patroclus said with a sense of finality. He helped Achilles to his feet, and there was decision in the motion and the slow slide of Patroclus' gaze over to Zag, and away again. "See to yourself, then, as you say. But if you do find yourself in need of anything, we won't be far."

"And you're not imposing," Achilles rushed to add, with the air of someone used to qualifying his wry partner's particular turns of phrase for the uninitiated.

Zag laughed, a bit awkward and a bit relieved. "Yeah, I got that. Thanks, Achilles."

Their footsteps fell muffled into the distance just beyond the curtains, their forms blurring into indistinct shapes and almost inaudible sound. Zag sunk down fully into the bath, felt it buzzing into his skin as if seeking out the very roots of his injuries and fatigue. He had passed the choice of what to do with him to them - and they had passed it back. An open invitation, but only if he would presume to take it. 

True enough that they could be plenty happy without him now. What he had been to them before - a salve for their memories of one another's skin, an excuse to relearn each other slowly after a thousand years apart - he was no longer. Yet they hadn't kicked him out. Was that his answer?

He sank further into the water, up to his nose, and spent the space of three heartbeats seriously considering getting dressed and leaving - if only because it felt unfair that Patroclus could remain utterly inscrutable while also seeing through him well enough to corner him between his desires like this. But then he relented, and climbed out of the water, and took a towel with him, leaving his clothes on the floor as he poked his head through the curtains into the bedroom.

They were already lost in one another, skin to skin; he was sure enough of it that he began backing away, ready to silently see himself out. But then he was seen, and was graced with the brief but accepting shade of a smile from Patroclus, and so he stayed. The attention on him, though, slipped away just as quickly, and he hadn't exactly been beckoned over, either. Not yet, anyways. So he took a step just beyond the curtains, half-waiting to be dismissed, or to receive any kind of direction that didn't simply say _sure, alright, do as you please_. He watched, held in suspension for what he should do next, and thinly disguised his curiosity as mere awkwardness with distracted swipes of his towel through his wet hair.

Dim but glimmering light from within the fluted columns seeped into the air, swept foglike across the floor, across the soft shape of the bed, and the softer shapes of the bodies upon it. Patroclus' hands moved busily, efficiently, allowing only flickering glimpses of rope twisted serpentlike around broad, pale wrists. "I think I should like to command you," he said, low and close behind Achilles' ear, but not so low as to go unheard. "I think I've earned that."

"You alone," Achilles answered breathily. "No one else. Neither men-"

"Nor gods," Patroclus pulled the rope taut, jerking the words from Achilles' mouth. "And rather well-known for it, too, weren't you. Do you think it a distinction?" He punctuated the bite in his words with another sharp, backwards tug of the rope that had the gasping echoes of corded muscle and rounded bone straining underneath Achilles' ethereal skin. "To be an irritant to kings?"

Achilles laughed, tight as the awkward, anticipatory angle of his shoulders. "As a matter of fact, I do."

There was a flash of teeth against the side of his neck, that melted after a moment into soft lips and the brush of a beard. "You're lucky I'm no king."

"And all the better a ruler for it." The tight pull on Achilles's arms went slack; there was the telltale pull of cork from glass, and he tipped his head back to stare at the high ceiling. "I'm not to look at you, then."

"For now, you will not," Patroclus confirmed, shifting across the blankets to come up just behind Achilles. Over the translucent crest of Achilles' shoulder, he met Zag's eye for only a moment, before Zag looked away and took a few flustered steps to each side. "We have an audience, after all. It would be impolite to pretend otherwise."

Zag could see little of what Patroclus was doing, dared not wander too far from where he was. On some level he had figured out that Achilles, sitting up like this, was a show for him - and that he was, in turn, a show for Patroclus. A heat-flushed mirror, thrumming with the rush of living blood the others lacked, unable to feign disinterest anymore and harder than he wanted to be. Still there was an unsettled feeling in his stomach as he took in the vast, perfect plane of Achilles' chest, the inward dip of his waist to the muscular hills of his stomach and the valleys cutting down from his sharp hipbones. Exposed, bare, stretched forward for display, and utterly vulnerable to-...to anything, really. To attack, to tenderness, to the slice of a blade or the brush of lips. It was that which made Zag feel, not just unsure, as he had been since this began, but off balance and somehow misplaced.

There was some sort of movement; Achilles hissed out a breath between his teeth, thighs tensing and then relaxing as his expression shifted into pleading, pleased helplessness. Patroclus' right arm was tucked between them, out of sight; his left hand appeared, wrapped around Achilles' hip, easing him back, and Zag understood that at least; a jolt like stepping on jagged glass ached clear through him, and Patroclus' eyes, still fixed on him, crinkled smugly at the corners.

A few quiet moments passed of stilted motion, stilted breathing, and then a sigh from Achilles, a soft burst of sound both needy and a bit disappointed, as Patroclus pulled back. "Always rushing, but never looking where you're going," he chided, rubbing his oil-slick fingers on the sheets. "Just as well. I'm sure you can handle me like this." It was a statement, mostly assured though still with the anticipatory weight of a question awaiting response. It came in the form of a laugh and a minute nod. 

Patroclus' arms circled around Achilles' shoulders, and for a moment he let himself hang there. "And surely, mighty warrior, you can bear such a paltry weight as mine." Achilles' knees slid further apart and then locked in place; he held himself steady, tensed but hardly straining, just enough to bring out the strong, graceful lines of his half-divine figure. Patroclus pulled himself up to his knees, pressed himself close. 

He moved slowly, at first, despite his posturing before. Zag's eyes were locked on Achilles' expression, not pained, per se - shades outside of Tartarus had little use for such a sensation - but closer to a grimace than anything else. He said nothing, only adjusting the cant of his hips minutely as Patroclus pushed into him. He looked ahead, heavy-lidded, his attention turned inwards; he hardly seemed to notice Zag's mismatched eyes on him.

Patroclus, on the other hand, met Zag's gaze unabashedly, delighted at seeing him stricken and flushed down to his chest. Dark eyes fluttered half-closed as he pulled back with a long sigh, then eased slowly in again. Achilles' face was relaxing bit by bit, and though he still held himself steady and upright, he pulled intermittently at the bonds around his wrists, as if forgetting every so often that they were there, only to be reminded again.

Patroclus' pace picked up; it was quieter than it should be, quieter by far than living flesh but not silent either. Achilles had stopped bothering to breathe in, except to breathe out, small sounds pulled along from the diaphragm. His erection twitched along to the rhythm of Patroclus' hips against his; he pulled more restlessly, insistently against the knots holding back his arms. Zag understood the impulse, aching as he was but transfixed nonetheless and waiting still to be either pulled in or pushed away. His attention jumped from the taunting glimpse of Patroclus' bottomless eyes to the endless, sculpted, beautiful planes of Achilles' skin stretching impossibly smoothly over the apparition of muscle, under the apparition of sweat and precum. He hardly dared to blink, let alone take the initiative to move and touch himself.

"Beloved," Achilles murmured back over his shoulder, an implicit request that went wilfully ignored. Patroclus instead took in Zag's expression a moment longer, drinking it in until he'd had his fill and his eyelids fluttered closed. He pressed his face into Achilles' neck and his fingers into Achilles' thighs. He moved faster, the buck of his hips shallower than before, then stuttering and uneven as he cried out, muffled, a sound for him to feel more than for others to hear. His shoulders went lax; he kissed what was nearby, tendons and soft spots and hillocks of bone, lazy and sweet for all his performative coldness. He pulled himself away; he looked at Zag; he didn't untie the rope.

"You want him," he said, neither needing nor expecting an answer. He reclined with easy, spent languor, pulling Achilles back by his bound wrists so that he was sitting on his heels, knees still spread but relaxed now without the rocking weight of the two of them bearing down. "Come on, then; maybe you'll take some inspiration from what you've seen."

Zag couldn't look away, hadn't since this had started, but some sense of not-quite-comprehending held him in place. Achilles shifted his weight restlessly, worked up and eager from Patroclus' ministrations. "It's alright," he said, stopping just shy of anything more urgent than encouragement. After a moment, though-- "Zagreus..."

The unspoken request, a plea laced with a command, was what snapped Zag out of it; he had dropped his damp towel on the floor and was already heading towards the bed before he even thought it over. That got him most of the way - the last few steps were more hesitant. He stopped just in front of Achilles, and shifted his weight uneasily, and tried not to notice that he was still half-hard despite the awkwardness. Just a few too many moments passed like that, that he felt compelled to say, "Sorry," and gesture at nothing in particular. "I'm...er, that is, I don't usually...take the lead, in these sorts of things..."

"I know," Achilles said, and sighed, and visibly forced himself to relax a bit more. He offered a small smile. "No rush." And, seeming to realize that might not reach Zag in its entirety, he hurried to add, "Only what you're comfortable with."

Zag hovered in an almost precarious way, as if on an invisible edge; his eyes danced across what had been presented to him. He measured the uneasy balance of what the two of them had been in the past and who he was being asked to be in the present. "Right," he muttered to himself, and fell, one knee and one hand holding him up off the bed as he leaned down to capture Achilles' lips.

He was too aggressive by half, more than he'd meant to be, but this at least he could do passably well, and he could tell from the desperately pleased response he got that Achilles didn't mind a bit of sloppiness. A few moments' adjustment and Zag was seated comfortably, straddled across his thighs. 

Freed from having to hold up his weight, Zag's hands were able to roam. There was nothing unknown to him here, at this point. Only the perspective was new: the context, the knowledge that he could do as he pleased. He decided, feeling the metallic tension in the muscles beneath his fingertips, that he didn't particularly want to do as he pleased alone.

His lips pressed against Achilles' shoulder as his hands traveled down Achilles' arms, to the rough rope that held them fast. It was a simple enough matter to seek out the knots, and to pull. They had no chance against a god, however minor; the strands twisted apart, and fell away with little effort.

As Achilles rolled out his shoulders and let his arms fall back to his sides, Zag's eyes settled on a space just above Achilles' shoulder. He had caught a glimpse of Patroclus - wrapped loosely in the sheets at the far end of the bed - and couldn't help but try to measure himself in the way he was being watched. Patroclus simply blinked back neutrally, as if to tell the attention that was on him to go back where it belonged. 

Achilles had waited just a bit too long for guidance he realized he would need to ask for. "Zagreus," he prompted.

Zag tensed, his gaze snapping back.

"What would you have me do?"

There was a tangible twitch in Zag's thighs. "Just...touch. Anywhere. But," He felt as if he could be on fire all the way down to his collarbones. "Er, not...yourself. I want to..."

Achilles' hands immediately cupped themselves over the arches of Zag's hips and pulled him closer, until their chests were almost touching, until their- "How's this?"

"Y-Yeah," Zag answered as articulately as he could over the measured, delicate slide of Achilles' thumbs along the inner seams of his thighs. He leaned forward to do-...what, he hadn't quite decided yet, beyond the need to do _something_ that involved his lips and Achilles' skin, and nearly jerked to a stop at the unexpected slide of his cock against muscle, battle-hard still though with the grudging give of shadesmoke. They were close enough that any movement would tease him. Even without looking, he could feel the cool, too-light press of Achilles' length against his stomach, and knew that if nothing else, the situation was mutual. He leaned in again.

He kissed aimlessly across Achilles' neck and shoulders and collarbones, biting down, too, as he pleased, where his teeth could find purchase and press in, deep but free of the threat of bruising. He hardly had enough direction for rhythm or intent, but even so he burned with proud, pleased eagerness at every quiet gasp or twitch of muscle from Achilles. This he understood better - it had never quite been for him, the power of command, or of wrestling in the sand, or of holding another down until they yielded. He could understand instead the power and the rush of giving pleasure. _Right_ , he thought again, distractedly, and wrapped a hand around the base of Achilles' cock.

Achilles rose to meet the touch as best he could, shifting under Zag's weight restlessly. Zag moved his hand in response, once or twice, feeling for a direction until Achilles bucked up into his grip again, impatient, and murmured his name, and then, more tightly, "Faster; like this."

One of his hands closed around Zag's, guiding him into a quicker pace and sharper movements. He had already been close; a few tightly strung moments later he broke with a small cry over the rim of their fingers and spilled across Zag's chest and stomach. His hips jerked erratically and then were still, and his other hand's grip on Zag's thigh, bruising-tight, loosened into short, idle strokes over the crest of his hip. He leaned closer to place a kiss at Zag's collarbone, at the junction of his neck and shoulder, below his jaw. "Your turn?" he offered quietly, a smile touching the corner of his mouth.

Zag, who had fewer reservations about begging aloud than the others in the room, did just that. " _Please_."

Achilles' hands knew Zag better than Zag's had known him, and needed no help. He was achingly slow but attentive and sure; his free hand cupped Zag's cheek and drew him into long, increasingly breathless kisses. Zag tried to stay still, but failed with a start and a sharp intake of air, chasing the spike of pleasure until it crested and he came, loud and echoing to fill the bare-walled house.

There was a moment of weightless stillness and silence. Then Zag leaned in like a branch bending under snow to steal one more lingering kiss, fumblingly extricated himself, and slid bonelessly to the side, sprawling on his back across the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side. He took in the precise shapes of the star-painted ceiling for a moment before deciding he'd much rather have his eyes closed than open.

When he did deign to open them again, Patroclus was leaning over him, a damp cloth in hand. "I've been wondering, you know, if gods bother to sleep."

"This one could be convinced to," Zag said, and grinned, and closed his eyes again to prove the point.

"It's strangely charming," Patroclus said, beginning to dab practically at the sticky, faintly glowing mess on Zag's skin. "Watching you learn."

That tone was inscrutable; Zag cracked an eye open to see that a corner of Patroclus' mouth was quirked up, in a way that would seem condescending to most. Thankfully Zag knew better. "Glad to hear you enjoyed the show."

"Pride precedes a fall, you know," Patroclus quipped back, but there was no malice in it; he tossed his rag aside onto the tile to be dealt with later.

Achilles drifted nearby, seemingly enjoying stretching his legs after so much time with them bent under him. He had commandeered Zag's long-discarded towel and a bowlful of water from the bath to rinse himself off. Patroclus gave him a baleful look as he approached, his hair still dripping; he surrendered with a relaxed, mischievous smile, hanging back just past the edge of the bed. The towel was pulled from his shoulders and draped over his wet hair with a chiding _tsk_. He stood still, and didn't resist as Patroclus took one of his hands and turned it over searchingly.

"It doesn't leave marks anymore," he said to the unasked question.

"Old habits," Patroclus sighed. "You don't need me looking after you these days, hm?"

"I never said that," Achilles said softly. A delicate moment passed. Patroclus felt his way along shadowy traces of empty veins; Zag held his breath, and tried to be a ghost himself.

Achilles pulled away gently; Patroclus let him go. He wandered to Zag's other side and sat, and combed his ruffled hair back from his face. "You're quiet. Are you feeling alright?"

"Great," Zag said, and laughed reassuringly, and tried not to dwell on things beyond his time. "Just thinking it's been a while since I've gotten to lie down. If you don't count all the times I've died, anyways."

Achilles' eyes knew him as well as his hands had. "No need to rush. Stay with us a while."

Zag turned away, feeling suddenly exposed, and looked for an escape route or maybe an article of clothing - only to meet the same level of wordless comprehension in the arch look Patroclus was giving him. He didn't seem as apologetic about it as Achilles did, but then it would hardly be like him to apologize simply for having lived a life before this one. 

_Flanked_ , Zag thought, and was both resigned and somehow thrilled at seeing how they outmaneuvered him so instinctively - and so particularly - the way they always did. He was in the middle; he would stay there; he was welcome.

He grinned and yawned and stretched as broadly as he could, shifting back more properly onto the bed (minding his feet) so he could take up exactly two thirds of it, as was his due. "Well, if you insist, it'd be downright sacrilegious of me to turn down your hospitality."

"Not that you haven't already made a pastime of defying the gods," Patroclus remarked dryly. Undeterred by the sprawl of limbs across the sheets, he rested his head on Zag's shoulder with an air that suggested he wouldn't relinquish it any time soon.

"Hey, it's just the one god!" Zag insisted, taking a great deal of mock offense. 

"What happened to sleeping?" Achilles teased, looking for a space big enough to fit him until Zag took pity on him and gave up one hard-won third of the bed. He settled into it gratefully, and closed his eyes with a weary but contented sigh.

There was, indeed, room enough for all.


End file.
